


My Lover Shall Have No Secrets

by consulting_vulcan_jedi_detective



Series: Hell Has A New King [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Human, Angel!Alfred, Devil!Ivan, Light Smut, M/M, POV Alfred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-17 09:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9318059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consulting_vulcan_jedi_detective/pseuds/consulting_vulcan_jedi_detective
Summary: Alfred loves everything about Ivan, his beautiful, wonderful human, except for the one thing that he cannot understand, cannot possibly love: Ivan does not want his soul saved. And Alfred has no idea why—not yet. He'll find out, and whatever the problem is, he'll fix it.





	1. Chapter 1

Alfred has the very best daily routine. Wake up in the morning with Ivan draped over him, just as the sun is coming up. Morning sex, stretch wings, preen, breakfast. Go to work, with his lover just across the hall. Lunch. Desk sex most days. After work, dinner at a different restaurant every evening, then back to his place or Ivan’s, and they’re pretty much undressed from nine o’clock on. Ivan has stamina, enough to handle Alfred, and he’s always, always eager.

Ivan is _wonderful_. Alfred loves his eyes, which are the most intense violet he’s ever seen in a human, and he loves his hair, which is soft as down and long enough to grasp easily during kissing. He loves Ivan’s lips and their many smiles. He loves the delight that sweeps Ivan’s face when he discovers something that makes Alfred moan. He might even love the way the human can torment him so very much during the day, when he, for example, stops to talk with someone else in the office and leans against Alfred’s doorway, his back toward him, shirt partly untucked. Then he’ll put his arms above his head and stretch, and the shirt is definitely too small, because Alfred will see the muscles in Ivan’s back moving, and a tiny sliver of skin will appear between his waistband and the bottom of the shirt as it rides up. Then there’ll be a soft moan that could be passed off as a sigh, and as Ivan is nodding to whatever the unseen coworker is saying, he’ll slip his fingers under the back of his waistband to tuck his shirt back in, and far more of his hand will disappear than necessary.

And Alfred will be sliding down in his seat, work all forgotten. It’s what he’s doing now. He’s going to be hiding under his desk until he hears Ivan walk away. He really should keep his door shut.

All of this is so innocuous. It shouldn’t be anything to get excited about. Alfred thinks that perhaps the reason he’s become so sensitive to Ivan is because of the one thing about Ivan that he really, really doesn’t love: he always tells Alfred _no_.

Not to sex. Alfred has yet to find Ivan’s limits in that respect. But whenever Alfred brings up the subject of the afterlife, of his self-given mission to save Ivan’s soul, the human just shakes his head and smiles.

So Alfred persists, and he continues to do the thing that’s always helped him win souls for Heaven: he lets himself fall deeper in love. Love always wins in the end, he knows. If he can pour enough love into the effort, he can save anyone. And falling in love with Ivan is easy.

It’s just so frustrating that Ivan doesn’t seem to want to be saved.

~

“But I just don’t,” Ivan is saying. “I really don’t.” He looks up at Alfred, who is straddling him, and reaches an arm up to stroke the side of his face, eyes filled with contentment. Then he grasps Alfred’s chin and pulls his face down so that they’re nose to nose.

Alfred sighs as Ivan closes his eyes and initiates a slow, deep kiss, humming softly. He’s just relaxing into the kiss when he feels Ivan’s hand palming his cock, fingers starting to wrap around.

“Wait,” he says.

Ivan’s eyes open and he tilts his head back against the pillow. “You don’t want this?” he asks, mock distress filling his voice, and then he sighs theatrically. “You don’t want me anymore,” he laments, eyelids fluttering shut again.

Oh, Alfred does. He wants him so much, but he can’t let Ivan distract him every time he brings up the subject of his soul. “I just want to understand why you don’t want Heaven,” he says softly.

Ivan’s mouth curves. “Is this not Heaven?” he murmurs, stroking his thumb unhurriedly up and down Alfred’s shaft. “Are you not as much of Heaven as I need?” he asks, voice low and alluring.

Those words make Alfred fairly melt. “I love you,” he whispers, the words both truth and promise. He’s said these words many times, to many people, but it is always like he is giving a part of himself away. He doesn’t mind. He will give Ivan as much of himself as he needs to give, until there is enough to chase the blackness out of the human’s soul.

~

Two months is not the longest he’s worked on a human, not nearly, but it is the longest he’s been with a human who’s known him for an angel. It’s not quite fair to reveal feathered wings and angelic power to unsuspecting humans. Of course they’ll repent their sins then, in learning that there is in fact a Heaven and a Hell. But Alfred believes that true goodness should come from the genuine desire to be good, and that is what he likes to nurture in the humans he makes into his missions.

With Ivan, it is different. The human knows that magic is real, that there are great celestial powers that run the worlds, and still he refuses to choose the clearly better of two options. He isn’t even, Alfred thinks, a bad person. He simply seems to have no interest in the correct end destination. He is a lover of life and life’s pleasures and seems to fear no consequences, and this burns Alfred to the core.

He’s never before thought that he would need to worry about a deadline. He nearly _always_ succeeds in his missions, and when he doesn’t it’s when his work is cut off in an untimely manner. Human souls are as enduring as all other souls, but human lives are a different matter.

It’s early yet, but what if this is one soul Alfred cannot save? He can imagine it already, Ivan old and still beautiful, smiling one last smile before his body ceases functioning and Alfred watches his soul be sucked down to Hell.

He cannot fail. He has plenty of time. He will save Ivan, and when he dies, Alfred will sadden and then let go, as he has done a hundred times before, but he will know that Ivan is safe behind Heaven’s gates. He will visit him on occasion, and it won’t matter that only the living are interested in sex, because he will see Ivan’s smile as many times as he wants.

~

“What’s the name again?” Sigurdur asks, blinking slowly.

“Ivan Braginsky,” Alfred says.

If his charms alone can’t win Ivan over, then maybe information will help. He wants to speak with someone who knows his human, and to do that he has to be here, in the United Kingdom, where he knows Ivan is recently moved from. He is starting with the records that the angels here keep.

Sigurdur cracks his neck absently, fingers flicking through invisible files with incredible speed. Then he stops and says, “I’ve got three locals in the living records, one recently relocated to the United States of America.”

“That one,” Alfred says eagerly. “Let’s hear it.”

“Ivan Ivanovich Braginsky, human, United Kingdom citizen. Forty-three years old, Russian heritage, English-speaking—”

“Wait, that’s not right,” Alfred interrupts. “The one I’m looking for is late twenties, _maybe_ early thirties.”

Sigurdur frowns. “Well, I can show you images of all three.” He lifts his palms and a moment later, there are three small figures hovering in the air. Alfred immediately picks out the one in the center as his Ivan. He points, and Sigurdur shrugs, saying, “That’s the one I was talking about.” The images disappear.

Alfred ponders. Ivan is a sorcerer. He has accessed powers that most humans do not know about. Is he the sort that would use magic to hide an aging face? Alfred knows that he is at least a little vain. But forty-three is not so old, and anyway Ivan is also always at ease, and so confident that he makes Alfred shiver with thrill. There is no insecurity about him.

Alfred scratches his head, and then asks Sigurdur to recite the rest of Ivan’s record to him.

When he leaves, he goes back to the US. Forget finding Ivan’s old friends. The man himself is the one who will have answers.

~

“Oh, God,” Alfred moans. The blasphemy slips out like a little snake, but it’s okay, because he is filled with glory and Ivan. He wraps his legs tighter around the human’s waist and braces his back against the wall so that he can push himself further down Ivan’s cock. Then he gets it absolutely right and pleasure spirals through him.

Ivan’s hips shift and he slides out a little before slamming back, perfect. He wraps his arms around Alfred and pulls him into a tight embrace. “Not Him, just me,” Ivan breathes.

They are still fitted together when Ivan walks to the bedroom, and every step is a brush against Alfred’s prostate, and it is Ivan’s name that he moans.

~

“How old are you, Ivan?” Alfred asks, lying on his back.

Ivan is lying beside him, absently kneading Alfred’s thigh. “That depends,” he says.

“Depends on what?” Alfred asks, surprised at the answer.

“On whether you’re talking about my soul or my body.” There is no shame or hesitation in the human’s voice, no worry or uncertainty.

Alfred sighs, enjoying Ivan’s fingers for a moment. Then he asks, “Explain?”

“Well,” Ivan says, “They’re both forty-three years old, but the latter is the same as the one I had when I was thirty-one.”

So Ivan does keep secrets from Alfred. The thought is startling and exhilarating and it makes Alfred want him more.

He has to ask the question that follows. “And how long will this last?”

Ivan turns his head toward him, eyes sparkling. “I have no idea,” he says, smiling. “Until I die?” he adds, shrugging.

Alfred’s heartbeat quickens. “Is this the reason you aren’t worried about Heaven and Hell? Because you think you don’t have to worry about what comes after life?” he asks. If this is true, then there is still a problem. Ivan may have somehow managed to prevent his body from aging, but he is still human, and humans are mortal and fragile. Alfred knows this very well.

But this human shakes his head, still smiling. “I told you that I didn’t want or need Heaven.” He props himself up on an elbow to look at Alfred. “If I were let past the gates, Alfred, I could not be myself,” he murmurs.

Alfred wants to cry with frustration. He loves this man so much that it hurts, but nothing he does ever seems to change Ivan’s mind.

Ivan notices. He touches Alfred’s face tenderly. “Poor Alfred. You were looking to grant a second chance. You were looking for someone to save, and you wound up with the Devil in your bed,” he whispers, smile turning fond and secretive all at once.

Alfred laughs a little then. “You’re really not that bad,” he says. “And I won’t stop trying, no matter how many times you say that you don’t want saving.”

~

The first night that work sends Ivan away overseas, Alfred is unable to sleep. He doesn’t need to, of course, but while he’s on Earth he makes it a habit to get at least a few hours each night.

But tonight, the bed is too large and too cold. He wants strong fingers on him; he wants to trace the lines of his lover’s chest. He’ll take any of Ivan’s incarnations, whether it is Ivan tender and considerate or Ivan wicked and hungry. The human is across an ocean from him, and he is driving Alfred mad with need.

An ocean is nothing to an angel.

He arrives on the sidewalk outside of Ivan’s hotel, invisible, and flies up, looking for the wonderfully complicated and beautiful soul that belongs to his human. When he finds Ivan, he perches on his balcony, peeking through the curtains and wondering why the lights are on so late at night.

There are two people in the room. Ivan is sitting on the bed, arms crossed and facing the other figure, which is an individual that Alfred recognizes with a horrible jolt.

It’s Arthur, one of a few demons he knows by name. He’s middling high in rank, like Alfred is in the organization of Heaven, and he does contracts.

Alfred is all set to do the right thing, the heroic thing, and burst in like the wrath of Heaven, but then he sees that Ivan doesn’t look like he’s about to sign his soul away, that he is familiar with the demon but not dominated by him.

It takes all that is in him to fly away, but fly he does. He will allow Ivan his privacy for now, but so long as Alfred is alive that soul will never belong to that demon. Now he understands why Ivan thinks he cannot enter Heaven: the human thinks that he is already bound to Hell. But he’s wrong. There are no bindings about his soul, Alfred can see that clearly. If his soul is not bound, then he has no contract, and he does not belong to Hell. All Alfred has to do is ensure that he never does. And he has a plan.

In his apartment, he kneels in front of the bed, closes his eyes, and for the first time in his long life he prays the way the humans do, asking the Heavenly Father he has never met for guidance and protection and assistance.

Tomorrow, Alfred is going to Hell.


	2. Chapter 2

Hell isn’t a difficult place to get to from Earth. Alfred has no trouble finding the road, and before he knows it he’s at the gates.

The gates of Hell are not like Heaven’s gates, which are towering and imposing, majestic and so polished that they blind. Hell’s gates are less than twice the height of a man, black or a very deep brown. They are solid, more like doors than gates, and their surfaces are carved with intricate patterns, imperfect, as if done by hand. And, contrasting with Heaven’s gates, they stand wide open, welcoming, allowing souls to pour through freely.

Alfred wades through the crowd toward a demon sitting on top of the wall where it meets the gate. She’s typing on a laptop and looking down at the humans every few seconds. She notices Alfred quickly—he’s the only one in the crowd with a live, physical body.

Before Alfred can get to her, she folds her laptop and hops off of her perch. Humans skitter nervously, some stopping to gape at her wings, which are a coppery color and membraned like a bat’s.

“Angel,” she calls, making for Alfred, “What is your business here?” The souls in her path scatter quickly.

Alfred tries to smile politely. “I’m looking to speak with a demon,” he begins. There is no protocol for asking access to Hell, if you’re an angel. It simply isn’t done. The only visits between Hell’s and Heaven’s agents are made by diplomats, and since Lucifer’s death Hell has been stingier about letting even ambassadors in. It’s not too much of a misfortune. Only demons _enjoy_ being in Hell. All of Alfred’s past liaisons with demons have been on Earth, which is liked by all beings.

This demon brushes long brown hair away from her face and crosses her arms, suspicious. “Well, congratulations, you’ve done it,” she says.

Alfred shakes his head. “A specific demon,” he clarifies. “His name is Arthur.”

She rolls her eyes. “There are probably a thousand demons named Arthur.”

He flushes at that. “Well, he contracts human souls. I think his region is the United Kingdom,” he says quickly.

“That’s nice,” she says, flicking her eyes back toward the gate.

“He’s about this tall,” Alfred says, holding his hand at his eye level, “blond hair, green eyes, wings kind of olivey-greyish.”

The demon eyes him skeptically. “Yeah, I think I know him,” she says finally. “What do you want with him?”

Alfred _wants_ to tell him to keep his hands off of _his_ human. He wants to shake him by the horns and make him promise that he won’t ever look at Ivan again. He wants to get out of this awful heat and live with Ivan for as long as his human lifetime will allow and he wants to pull him up to Heaven with both hands. “Can I just talk to Arthur?” is what he asks.

“I’ll call him,” the demon says, still looking doubtful.

~

“Er, Alfred, right?” Arthur asks, walking up to the gate. His wings are hidden and he looks like little more than a slightly hassled human, but Alfred can see his soul through his eyes and it is nothing human.

It takes all the control he has to shake the demon’s offered hand with any calmness, but he does it.

“So what’s the matter you wanted to discuss?” Arthur asks with raised eyebrow, clearly bewildered by the fact that an angel has come to see him.

“I’m here about a human,” Alfred says evenly. “He is…a friend of mine, one that you are working on. I want to make a deal, something for your promise not to contact him again.” He wouldn’t mind it if Arthur stays in Hell forever, actually.

The demon sighs, shaking his head in mock regret, “Alfred, you know that humans have free will. They’ll come here or go to Heaven based on their own choices. I and my coworkers never _force_ anything on anyone.”

Alfred fists his hands at his sides. “You have free will, too. You can choose to stop trying to contract him. You needn’t worry yourself about what comes after.”

Arthur’s mouth quirks. “You really care about this one, don’t you? Well, we’ll see about what kind of deal we might make. Who’s this soul you want?”

“He’s a sorcerer, and I know that he hasn’t sold to you, yet. His name is Ivan Braginsky,” Alfred says quickly.

Somehow, this surprises Arthur. His eyebrows lift briefly, and then he nods with a strange expression on his face, one that Alfred cannot interpret. “I see,” he says. He takes a deep breath, looking uncertain. Then he nods again and says, “Come in and we’ll discuss your matter.”

Alfred stares blankly, thrown. No angel has been invited into Hell for ages, he’s sure. The last he’d heard, morale was horrendously down and the place was running at half efficiency. Not the kind of place you’d want your enemies to see. But Arthur is already turning and walking back in the direction he’d come, and nobody is shooing Alfred away. Bewildered, he follows.

~

Hell doesn’t look like a failing civilization at all. In fact, compared to the last time Alfred had been here, a couple of decades before the end of Lucifer’s reign, it seems superior. It’s cleaned up. The fires are brighter, the demons are more numerous, and the screams are _definitely_ louder.

“Hell looks like it’s picked up lately,” Alfred offers as he walks beside Arthur.

“Hm?” the demon asks, looking distracted.

Alfred is wondering if something is wrong with Arthur. They’ve been traveling for nearly half an hour, flying and walking alternately, and he’s sure that the path they’ve been taking cannot be a most direct route. Arthur seems to be trying to figure something out, and he’s taking a circuitous path on purpose. Alfred conceals his impatience and repeats the question as politely as he can.

“Oh, yes. Well, we have always been at our best when we have a good King,” Arthur says, suddenly smiling with genuine pride.

Alfred blinks. He recalls rumors, ones that had started around three years ago, that there was a true King in Hell again for the first time since Lucifer. He hadn’t believed that they were true.

They finally arrive in front of a large building, a little like an Earth office building. Inside, the heat is even more oppressive.

They walk down several corridors, and then Arthur points Alfred through an open door. Inside, the room is completely bare, and the air tingles strangely on his skin. He turns in puzzlement and suspicion just as the door slams behind him. A bolt turns audibly.

“Sorry about that.” Arthur’s voice comes through a speaker in the wall. “You’ll get to see Ivan tonight, though.” Then there’s a clicking noise and all that is left in the room with Alfred is the sound of his own disbelieving, appalled breath.

~

There is foolishness, and then there is what he has done today, Alfred has come to realize. He should never have admitted a personal investment in Ivan’s fate. He’d thought he’d come to Hell to negotiate, but he has been reduced to a playing piece, a tool to induce Ivan to make a decision. He is sure that this is why he is here. Arthur is not, he thinks, a petty individual. He is intelligent, and while Alfred has been clouded by his emotions, Arthur has only seized the opportunity to use leverage against Ivan.

If Ivan comes down here tonight for him, Alfred will have lost, because it will mean that Arthur has gotten what he wants. And yet, if he does not come, it will mean that the sorcerer cares more for his own safety than for Alfred’s life, and he will likely contract to Hell anyway, without Alfred there to balance the other side.

It might be even worse. Perhaps Arthur will hurt Ivan. Humans don’t typically come down to Hell alive, but plenty come dead. If Ivan dies, there will truly be nothing that Alfred can do.

He hates Arthur with a passion, for taking away his human’s choice, and for getting the better of Alfred the way he has. And yet, he doesn’t think that he could wholly blame the demon, even if he’d used the dirtiest of tricks, because he trying to obtain the beautiful, complicated soul that Alfred loves so much, and he can understand how anyone might covet that soul. Ivan is one in millions, Alfred thinks.

Tonight, one way or another, he is going to lose him, and it is his own fault.

~

When he hears a clicking noise at the door, Alfred springs to his feet and positions himself in a front corner of the room, knees slightly bent.

The door opens. Arthur steps in, and Alfred launches himself at the demon. They hit the floor solidly.

Alfred gets an arm around Arthur’s neck as the demon tries to stand. “Where is he?” he snaps, shaking with rage and desperation.

The demon gasps, shaking his head. Then Alfred hears the footsteps coming up behind him. He shoves Arthur down to the side as hard as he can and hears him groan as he turns around, whipping his wings out defensively.

“Easy, beautiful,” the newcomer says, soothing. Ivan. He is safe and gorgeous and alive, and his hands reach for Alfred, pulling him close. “What were you doing down here, Alfred?”

And like that, his anger is completely forgotten, as he wraps his arms around Ivan’s shoulders. “I just wanted you,” he says, gazing into those lovely violet eyes.

“I was upstairs,” Ivan says.

“I wanted to save you,” Alfred whispers fiercely. “Is that so terrible a thing to want?”

“I told you that I didn’t need saving,” Ivan murmurs against his ear.

“Why, because you seem to like Hell so much already?” Alfred asks miserably. “I should be asking _you_ what you’re doing down here.”

One of Ivan’s arms reaches back to stroke one of Alfred’s wings. “Silly angel. I’m the King.”

Alfred freezes. “ _What?_ ”

Ivan dips his face into Alfred’s feathers, inhaling deeply. “I’m the Devil, Alfred,” he says easily. “I did tell you, but you didn’t seem to take me seriously,” he says, laughing softly.

Alfred shakes his head, trying to pull away. He fails, impossibly. “No, you’re human,” he says stubbornly.

“I am,” Ivan acknowledges, and then he tilts his face toward Alfred. His eyes are filled with hellfire, and Alfred’s heart nearly stops. Then Ivan dips his head down again, pressing his lips against Alfred’s collarbone, apparently finished with the conversation.

“This is some kind of trick,” Alfred breathes at last. “You’ve made a bargain or something.” He looks down, but Arthur has already escaped out the door.

“I did make a bargain,” Ivan admits, pulling away with clear reluctance. “But the terms have already been fully met. Hell considers my debt paid, or I would have died three years ago.”

“Three years?” Alfred asks numbly.

“When my contract expired,” Ivan says, nonchalant.

Did he sell his soul to become the Devil? What kind of person would do that? What kind of wickedness must he embody, Alfred wonders, if what he is saying is true? He’d thought that he’d had a perfect lover, but in one awful minute that lover has been replaced by a monster, a monster that has laughed and traced cruel fingers along Alfred’s skin while wearing the skin of his love.

Then he realizes that this cannot be right, because no demon would be so foolish as to offer to make a human into his King. There was almost no way that it would work, for starters, and if somehow it could be done, the change would surely be catastrophic for Hell.

If Ivan is the one who assumed the title of Devil three years ago, then he is not human. All this time Alfred has been sleeping with him and trying to save his soul, he has been deceived.

Numbly, he lets Ivan push him against the wall. His hands are tender, and when he brushes Alfred’s shirt, it vanishes completely, leaving Alfred bare in the heat of Hell.

He feels like such a fool. He can struggle, but it is too late to fight. He is a single angel under the hands of the Devil, and he will break here. His heart stutters at the thought.

Ivan’s fingers still. “You’re afraid,” he says, and he sounds oddly unhappy. “Please don’t be afraid, Alfred,” he murmurs, taking his hands away.

The sudden lack of pressure against Alfred’s skin makes him arch, his body seeking his lover’s touch against his will, and he hates himself for it. He wraps his arms around himself tightly and whispers, looking down, “Why are you doing this to me?” He doesn’t expect an answer. True evil is unfathomable and motiveless, and the Devil needs no reasons to torment.

A hand reaches up and touches his cheek. He flinches away. “Look at me, Alfred,” Ivan says. His voice is gentle, so gentle.

Alfred lifts his gaze reluctantly. Ivan’s hands are on either side of his face now and they guide him so that he is looking directly into the Devil’s eyes.

He is surprised to see that through those windows is a familiar sight: a human soul made of light and shadow hugging together tightly. It is Ivan’s soul, it is still beautiful, and Alfred does not understand. He looks deep into violet eyes, searching for anything out of place, anything that will reveal deception and help him peel the mask away from the demon that must surely be hiding behind those eyes.

Then he hears a gasp, and realizes that he’s letting his halo show. Ivan is staring at him with wonderment, not at all offended by the intrusion of Heaven’s light into Hell, and Alfred stares back. His light is shining through Ivan, and it is the light of truth to Alfred’s eyes.

The blood in Ivan’s veins glows with hellfire, the outlines of two vast, sweeping wings illuminate, and every cell in his body is filled with infernal power. And, somehow, the soul wrapped around it all is human.

Ivan has not lied to him. He is human, and he is the Devil.

Alfred lets his halo fade, and he turns away from Ivan, dropping to his knees. “Father, help me,” he whispers.

He is in love. He is still in love, because everything about Ivan that he’d first fallen for is real.

He is in love with the Devil, and his love is going to destroy him.


End file.
